


Unquiet Grave Bonus Scenes

by Mugatu



Series: The Unquiet Grave [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-01-25 16:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mugatu/pseuds/Mugatu
Summary: Had some ideas for bonus fic in this 'verse, so thought I'd post them as they're finished. Don't know how many I'll get around to, but enjoy!





	1. Jaaron: First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Unquiet Grave Bonus Scenes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20894093) by [FrozenPoison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenPoison/pseuds/FrozenPoison)



> Jaaron's first time from Jesus' PoV.

Over the past decade Paul has had _countless_ fantasies of what sex with Aaron would be like. He’s refined them over the years as they’ve gotten to know each other better but have remained fairly consistent. In these fantasies he’s _always_ the instigator, coaxing shy, polite, _nice_ Aaron into letting himself go. Aaron is fumbling and overwhelmed as Paul rocks his world in ways he never imagined.

The real thing is absolutely nothing like that, with the exception of a little fumbling on both ends. There’s no hesitation at all; once Paul’s given him the go ahead Aaron is all over him, and if anyone is overwhelmed it’s Paul himself. Aaron can _kiss,_ something that Paul had already learned a few nights ago. He feels dazed as the other man breaks away, unable to cope with the open, happy smile on Aaron’s face. A smile that turns only a little shy when he asks if Paul wants to take this to the couch or to the bed.

“Sex is probably too fast,” Paul blurts out, because it is, because he feels out of control and needs to get some back, because he’s an idiot and thinks he can handle kissing. He realizes his error as soon as Aaron slings him down on the couch and climbs on top of him. Aaron’s solid weight bearing down on him, the heat of his skin through layers of clothes, the way he smiles that same open smile before he leans down to kiss Paul’s mouth.

They’ve only been kissing for a few seconds when Paul feels a wholly unwelcome but sadly familiar sensation. He’s not on the couch, he’s across the room, listening to the noises their mouths makes when they kiss.

 _No,_ he thinks, _Not now, I’m not going to disassociate now, fuck that._ He’s not across the room, he’s _here,_ on the couch, kissing Aaron, Aaron who said he’s in love with him and Paul is starting to believe that’s possible.

Aaron senses something, he breaks away and looks at Paul with concern, a question forming on his lips. Before it can come out Paul grabs him by the hair and pulls him back down. He focuses on sensation, the feel of Aaron’s beard scraping against his own, the smell of it—he recognizes the same fancy beard oil shit he’d given Paul for Christmas. The taste of his tongue as it slides into Paul’s mouth. How hot Aaron’s skin is when Paul slides a hand beneath his shirt.

It works; Paul is _here,_ his thoughts are pleasantly blank, his world narrowed down to this couch and the man kissing him. He feels Aaron’s hand slide over his chest, pausing to thumb a nipple, before reaching the top button of his shirt. He gets a flash of deja vu as Aaron starts deftly unbuttoning his shirt, just a few before he breaks away from Paul’s mouth to attack his neck with teeth and tongue. Paul groans and arcs against him, needing friction, then grabs at Aaron’s shirt and tries to tug it off, the angle making it impossible. Aaron pushes himself up and Paul gets another unwelcome flash—he’s behind the couch, seeing Aaron emerge and tug the shirt off over his head before diving back in. Again Paul forces himself to focus on being _present,_ in his own body. Easy to do, since Aaron is going after his buttons again, undoing them and pushing his shirt apart so that they’re skin to skin.

Aaron breaks away from his mouth, pressing his forehead against Paul’s, “We need to stop.”

“We do,” Paul agrees. They’re close to the point of no return, if they don’t stop _now_ they won’t be able to. They need to get up, do something to cool down, maybe talk more. Then go to sleep in separate beds.

 _Fuck._ That thought is the tipping point, he remembers sleeping through the night next to Aaron the last time he was here, skin brushing against skin occasionally as the two of them moved across Aaron’s fucking _enormous_ bed. Paul grabs Aaron by the back of his head and pulls him to his mouth. A few minutes later Paul is fumbling with Aaron’s belt and zipper, sliding his hand in and wrapping it around the other man’s dick, stroking it.

 _He likes it faster than this,_ Paul thinks, _and a little rougher._

“ _Fuck,”_ Aaron groans as Paul adjusts his grip. It’s an awkward angle that strains his wrists but he doesn’t give a shit, not with Aaron gasping out “ _yes, oh, fuck, my god…”_ Paul is starting to feel like he’s back in control, taking Aaron apart, making him thrust mindlessly into his hands.

Then Aaron _growls,_ a low feral noise that Paul can’t believe came from _Aaron’s_ nerdy, Dad Friend mouth. He grabs Paul’s wrist and jerks it away, slamming his body weight down and making Paul cry out. He bites at Paul’s neck and rubs his dick against Paul’s stomach before pushing himself up and going for Paul’s own zipper. He lifts his hips so Aaron can slide off his jeans and boxers all in one movement. He gets another flash, the sensation of hovering by the couch and getting a glimpse of his own legs.

 _No,_ he thinks savagely, wrapping his legs around Aaron’s waist, _I’m here, on this couch, not across the room, I’m kissing Aaron, I can feel his dick sliding against my own and it feels fucking amazing, so does his back and thighs beneath my hands…_

It works, no more flashes come to him. No more _anything_ comes to him; because Aaron is sliding down the length of his body, dropping to the floor and leaning down to take Paul’s dick in his mouth. Aaron sucks dick with the same skill as he kisses. One of Aaron’s hands travels up his chest, thumb rubbing against his nipple before continuing up to Paul’s mouth. He parts his lips and Aaron slides them in, Paul licking and sucking them down, digging in his teeth before Aaron removes them.

He’s right there, on the verge, his muscles are tightening and he thrusts up into Aaron’s mouth heedlessly, holding him in place by the hair.

“I’m close, I’m—“ Paul groans, then lets out a wordless shout when Aaron slides his slick fingers inside, curling them _just so_. He comes in a rush, hot from his chest down to his dick, skin tingling.

He collapses against the couch, feeling loose and boneless, coming back to himself enough to drag Aaron off the floor and into his arms. It’s over in less than a minute, Paul holding him close and stroking in that fast, rough way he likes, biting at Aaron’s earlobe right before he comes all over Paul’s stomach.

“Oh _Paul,”_ Aaron groans out, sounding completely wrecked.

They hold each other afterward as they catch their breath, both of them slick with sweat and Paul feeling dazed and blissful. He closes his eyes, knowing he’s going to pass out before it happens. He stays awake long enough to laugh at Aaron when he awkwardly apologizes for going too fast, and to tease him about the possibility of his ghost watching.

_Sorry. I tried not to, I just…_

Static buzzing in Paul’s head, sleep nonsense. “Well, if I’m wrong and he watched I don’t mind,” he says, already more than half asleep, thoughts turning to dreams. A fractured image comes to him of how he and Aaron must’ve looked on the couch, the other man’s naked ass flexing as he thrust against Paul.

He drifts off not long after and doesn’t really remember this conversation when they wake up a few hours later then stumble upstairs for an even more satisfying around two on Aaron’s huge fucking bed. Paul has a few flashes of disassociation but powers through them without thinking much of them.

Not until after when they’re laying together drowsing. Aaron is quiet, toying with Paul’s fingers, before he takes a breath and says, “Ok…that…was pretty ok. On my end. Like, super, duper ok.”

Paul’s heart sinks, “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

Aaron toys with his fingers a little more, then takes in another breath, “There were a couple of times I noticed you…” he frowns, “It was like you went away.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul says quickly, “It’s nothing you did, don’t worry about it.”

Aaron gives him a look, “Yeah, that’s not good enough. I don’t care if it’s anything _I_ did, if…if you’re uncomfortable while we’re having sex I want to know what’s going on.”

Paul looks away, fighting the urge to spin the same bullshit. Javi was the first guy who noticed, and Paul had been able to soothe him, spin some bullshit and make him forget it. His first instinct is to try to dodge, evade, distract.

 _Take it slow, and communicate._ That’s what Deanna had said when he’d called to talk about his meltdown after Aaron said he was _in love_ with him. They’d already fucked up the first, probably shouldn’t do the second. He turns his face away from Aaron, and forces a light, jokey tone of voice, “Ok. I probably should’ve mentioned this in my initial disclaimer. I didn’t; and I think we’re still in the grace period so if you want to back out I’ll un—“

That’s all he’s able to get out, because Aaron takes a hold of his face and forces him to look at him, “ _Paul._ Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” he says automatically, “It’s really…it’s really not a big deal. I just…do you know what disassociation is? In um…the _psychological_ sense?”

As soon as he says it he gets an ugly flash of an argument he had with Alex _years_ ago, _Not a lot of guys would put up with someone who is as fucking crazy as you are, do you know how_ lucky _you are to be with me?_

“Yeah, I do,” Aaron says softly, “It…we learned about it when we went to Rwanda for Doctors International. It’s a common response to trauma.” His eyes are full of understanding and sympathy and Paul can hardly stand to look at him.

“Oh,” Paul says, feeling stupid, “Of course you did, how I could I forget? You going to Africa was what made me realize I was in love with you, then you had to come back _hot_ which was really fucking mean of you.”

“Disassociation,” Aaron says, refusing to be distracted, “Is that what was happening? Do you have any triggers I should know about?”

Paul stares at him. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, this is _Aaron_ , and one of the many reasons Paul has spent over a decade in love with him is how understanding and empathetic he is, to anyone. Despite his lack of contact with his parents he doesn’t seem to _hate_ them, calling his mom a “very confused woman” at the very worst. It comes across in his writing; even in his last book with someone as monstrous as Negan who he clearly had no sympathy for there was understanding. “No,” Paul says, “I don’t know why it happens sometimes, my therapist and I have been going around in circles for years trying to figure it out. Sometimes it’s just…it’s like I’m outside myself, watching myself,” he hesitates again, “And sometimes…it’s like I’m _someone_ else. Not…not like multiple personalities, I’m not that crazy, it’s just…I think things that just don’t seem to come from _me._ Intrusive thoughts.”

Aaron drums his fingers against the sheets, turning something over in his mind before saying, “Ok. I just…I’m not completely ignorant of what goes on in the foster care system, and I know you haven’t told me everything you went through. I don’t need you bare all your trauma or anything you don’t want, but…but you can talk to me, ok? I won’t think you’re crazy or a bummer. I mean, come on. You’re talking to a guy who has a ghost for one of his best friends.”

Paul snorts out a laugh at that, “Oh yeah. Well, crazy calls to crazy.”

“I love all of you,” Aaron says seriously, “Even the messed up bits. It’s all part of who you are.”

And Paul…Paul can’t think of a response to that. He’s made up his mind to try this, _them,_ he’s talked to his therapist and Hershel and been reassured that it’s possible and _probable_ that if Aaron say’s he’s in love with him he means it. Still doesn’t make the automatic disbelief go away, doesn’t quiet the little voice in his head that tells him he’s very easy to get rid of, that he doesn’t belong here.

Deanna’s measured voice in his ear, _You’re not a mind reader, Paul. Logic. Facts. Tell me why you think he’s lying without using your own insecurities._

He had dozens of answers, all them boiling down to two facts: Paul is damaged goods and Aaron is still in love with Eric, someone who was _very_ different than he is. Paul told her he _wanted_ to believe it, when Aaron looked at him and begged him not to leave it was like he could _feel_ the love pouring off of him, as strong as anything Paul had felt for the other man himself. But it wouldn’t be the first time he projected his own feelings onto other people and saw things that weren’t there just because he _wanted_ to see them. It wasn’t until he called and talked to Hershel that he found the guts to maybe believe it, and he’s not used to Aaron just casually saying it.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, “I can see the wheels turning in your noggin, pal. Talk to me.”

“I love you too,” Paul says. Speaking the words out loud still feels strange, but he thinks if he practices that will go away eventually. Especially since his reward is Aaron’s face lighting up with pure joy, and that smile that is without restraint or artifice. Paul has to kiss him then, because he can, and feels a spark of _love you love you love you I’m so glad you came back I’m going to make you so happy._ Projection, but maybe not one built on wishful thinking.

They pull apart and Aaron runs his hand down Paul’s arm, smiling. After a minute he says, “So…you didn’t think I was hot before Africa?”

“I thought you were _cute_ ,” Paul says, pinching his side, “With your puppy eyes and curls and your baby face. Then you came back all scruffy and _manly_ and no longer sporting a white-guy ‘fro. Like I said, pal: _mean_ of you.”


	2. Jaaron: Little bit about Aaron on Social Media

Aaron is forced from time to time to confront the fact that he is—compared to most people—somewhat famous. He tries to brush it off, the very idea is ludicrous and mortifying. He’s a _writer,_ a weaver of words, the characters he creates are the real stars. When he says things like this Paul _loves_ to point out that his “Twitter army” consists of a quarter of a million followers (Aaron always argues that he’s exaggerating, the last time he checked it wasn’t much higher than two hundred thousand and a lot of those aren’t _real_ people) Besides, it’s not like they’re following for details about _him._ Most of the questions he gets are about his books, films made of his books, and details about his characters that didn’t make it into the books. Daryl and Clem are the two he gets asked about most, and he has a feeling that once _The Well and the Tiger_ is published he’ll get asked just as much about Malachi and Sharona. He also gets far too many questions asking about Negan—if he had a heart beneath everything, if he could be redeemed, if he’d had a different upbringing could he have turned out different. Aaron’s answers are consistent: _No, fuck no,_ and _yes, but still an evil piece of shit_ respectively.

After his _work_ Aaron gets the most attention for his politics—he’s unapologetically liberal, unapologetically gay, and unapologetically critical of probably every US foreign policy decision in its two hundred plus year history. He has the bad habit of searching for stupid people on twitter to argue with when he’s depressed or stressed out in his personal life—the months Eric was sick he got in dozens of particularly vicious arguments about gay marriage and the US healthcare system. _Buzzfeed_ even wrote an article titled “Top 5 Times Aaron Raleigh Lost His Shit on Twitter”. He’d be embarrassed if not for the fact that Eric saw it and laughed harder than he had in weeks, even called up Glenn to request he print out copies and leave them around the condo as prank. By that point it was too physically draining for Eric to do it himself.

Aaron’s other bad habit is going after anyone who insults Michonne Grimes; whether personally or her work. She’s even more vocal than he is politically, and her plays and novels deal more directly with social issues than his own do. She also writes nonfiction essays on feminism and racism in popular media, and hell hath _no_ fury like geeks told the TV series they love could do better in terms of representation. Some of the shit thrown her way is plain vile; even beyond the homophobic crap he has to deal with. So he tends to go overboard, and he’s had to send her a few apologetic DMs over the years because he ends up being patronizing or speaking for her. Once she replied that he’s nowhere near as bad as Rick, and her husband has been permanently banned from even looking at Twitter because it gets him so damn angry. She’s tried to ban Carl because he takes after his father in that regard but he’s _much_ slyer about it, being a social-media-savvy Millennial. Aaron jokingly asks her if he can write a story about a father and son duo tracking down assholes on the internet to murder them; and is told not to give the Grimes men any ideas.

Aaron just doesn’t post much personal information. He’s not super-guarded about his privacy, he doesn’t _need_ to be, he just doesn’t think he’s that interesting. He has a locked private account to interact with his close friends but mainly uses Facebook for that. So Aaron is _always_ caught off guard and bewildered when he posts something personal on his main Twitter and gets a lot of response. In the months after Eric’s funeral he made a few posts about about his illness and death, mostly to explain to his readers why his next book would be delayed and why he wouldn’t be making any appearances for the foreseeable future. In those days his following was about a fourthof what it is now, but there was still a veritable tsunami of supportive messages. Generic “sorry for your loss” to intensely personal stories of grief. He was only able to look at a few of those before abandoning Twitter altogether for several months.

Once to his extreme mortification he’d gotten his accounts mixed up and sent a personal tweet to Paul from his main. It hadn’t been _too_ bad; they occasionally exchanged dirty comments via text but thankfully never over Twitter. Aaron had been on a week-long tour promoting _Knots Untie_ and while scrolling through Twitter saw Paul had posted a selfie at the Inman Park Festival. He looked amazing, and Aaron just had to send a quick, _Can’t wait to get back to that face. Love you!_ Included was a cringe-worthy amount of heart-eyes emojis. He didn’t realize his mistake until he logged in to avalanche of replies from total strangers.

_Who IS that guy? He’s GORGEOUS!_

_Is that your boyfriend?_

_I didn’t know you had a new boyfriend, I’m so happy for you!_

_What a cutie! If he’s your BF then you’re a v. lucky guy!_

_Some things you wrote about your 1_ _ st _ _partner’s death helped when I went thru the same thing. Glad you found someone, hope one day I will too_

Aaron sent a few private messages to people who made comments like the last one then deleted his tweet. Because his friends are assholes several of them had already seen and screen capped it so they could mock him about it later.

On their wedding day Aaron had been so happy and wanted to share that with the world. After getting permission he posted a picture of Paul in his suit, hair pulled back in a loose bun and laughing with the caption:

_In June to celebrate Obergefell v Hodges I asked this dork to marry me. Today we’re finally getting around to it #lovewins #lucky_

Aaron thought he was prepared for the response, but was still caught off guard by the avalanche of (mostly) positive replies he got. There was even a brief write-up in the Arts & Entertainment section of the AJC and request for a wedding photo that he politely declined. This _should_ have prepared him a few months later when he was lying in a hospital bed in physical and emotional agony and received a phone call from a reporter wanting to ask a few questions about the accident. Questions he was in no shape whatsoever to answer. Thank god Sasha and Rosita had been visiting when he got the call; when the two women realized what was going on Rosita snatched the phone out of Aaron’s hand.

“Hello,” she said in a controlled voice, “Who am I speaking with?” She exchanged a look with her wife and headed out in the hallway.

“Poor guy,” Aaron croaked out, “Just doing his job.”

“Give her this,” Sasha replied, stroking his hand, “She hasn’t had many chances to do the whole ’scary Latina’ act since Luis was born. She’s worried she’s getting soft.”

“Where is the little guy?” Aaron said, “Wait, did I ask already?”

“Being spoiled by Uncle Ty and Aunt Karen,” Sasha replied, “And yes, you did ask already.”

“Did I ask for you to show me pictures?” Aaron murmured, “I need to look at happy things.” Tyrese Williams playing with his nephew is the definition of happy making. Ty used to play football professionally, is built like a tank, and is probably the biggest cream puff Aaron has ever met, particularly when it comes to his two-year-old nephew.

“That you didn’t do,” Sasha said, “Here, take a look.”

Weeks later, when he finally believes that Paul is going to live, Aaron goes back on social media and is just as surprised and humbled by the outpouring of support they’ve gotten. He cries a _lot_ going through twitter and seeing the messages.

_@dianneFX: Everyone say a prayer for @paulhchrist & his husband @aaraleighofficial. Paul is the sweetestguy I’ve ever met#oblivionfamily_

_@jerryjdingleberry: please send love to my man @paulhchrist! He’s fighting for his life @Grady Memorial & Death has no idea what its in for! #oblivionfamily_

_@JDMorgan: just found out about @aaraleighofficial and @paulhchrist. I got to know them both while filming #Vengeance & you can’t find two nicer guys_

_@Michonnegrimes: I received word that my dear friend @aaraleighofficial and his new husband were seriously injured in a car accident. Please keep both in your thoughts. Aaron, I have so much to say to you but will wait until we see each other in person. Courage._

He gets even more messages from complete strangers who encourage him to be strong, who tell him they’re praying for him or thinking of him, who tell him how much his books meant to them and helped them through their own difficulties, and Aaron cries even more. It’s another two days before he is able to shakily post a message to social media.

_We’re alive. Both of us. The doctors seem to think we’ll stay that way. There’s more, a lot more, but nothing else is anywhere near as important. Love to you all._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this reality Paul works for a TV series called Oblivion Song that is based on a Robert Kirkman comic. I think I'm clever.
> 
> Also, JDM played Negan in the film of Aaron's book.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaaron during the first month of their relationship, now with some bonus smut.

Hershel Rhee is the first baby born into their friendship group and is therefore a Pretty Big Deal. Competition for the title of “coolest gay uncle/auntie” among the Rhees’ found family is _fierce._ Little Hershel’s second birthday is when Aaron thinks he has a shot at winning it; even if he’s cheating a little by conspiring with Glenn’s oldest sister and Mama Rhee. Aaron and Kellie are splitting the cost, Mama Rhee did most of the planning. Both women live in Michigan, since the Maggie and Glenn were just there for the holidays they can’t justify making a trip down to Atlanta and Aaron therefore gets the pleasure of being the one to make the delivery. He’s been looking forward to seeing his friends’ reactions for months. Until Aaron walks into the Greene farmhouse and sees Maggie talking to Paul and remembers, _Oh right. She’s going to kill me when she finds out we’re together._

The smile on his face freezes to a pained rictus as she comes up to give him a hug and kiss on the cheek, “Hey, stranger,” she says, “Gifts go over there. You doin’ ok?” She says the last with a frown, she must’ve caught his expression.

Aaron falls back on his standby excuse, “Oh, just woolgathering. Working out some plot details.” Being a writer who is known for occasional spacing out while making weird expressions is _damn_ useful, because Maggie just accepts it with a shrug.

“No thinking about work, pal,” Paul says with an easy smile, “You’re here to have fun.”

“Um. Right,” Aaron says. The man he loves is an asshole with the world’s best poker face because while the sight of him is enough for Aaron to feel his cheeks heat up and start fidgeting Paul is cooler than a damned cucumber. Then again Paul has a decade’s worth of practice in hiding how he feels about him, a fact Aaron still has trouble processing a month after learning it. Paul who liked to call Aaron the “Dad Friend”, Paul who could be distant and reserved, Paul who didn’t really do relationships, Paul whose numerous hookups usually looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of _Men’s Health._ _That_ Paul was in love with him and had been for years.

Aaron realizes he’s staring; realizes he hasn’t noticed anyone else in the room. Thankfully the farmhouse is _packed_ and Maggie has already moved on to deal with the newest crisis. Then he’s alone with Paul, _staring._ He knows he’s being obvious but seriously, what was he _supposed_ to do when Paul looked like that? He was dressed in a fitted blue henley that showed off his his shoulders and arms, top two buttons undone revealing his collar bones. Aaron knows that if he were to push the shirt open just a _little_ he’d see the faint trace a love bite on Paul’s shoulder. A love bite Aaron had given him last Sunday night. He drags his eyes away and up to Paul’s face, fighting a smile, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Paul says, with an easy smile of his own, “You really need to stop looking at me like that; unless you want to make a general announcement.”

Aaron shifts from foot to foot, “I’m ready whenever you are. We could do it right now. I’ll stand up on the table and yell it out.” He’s only halfway joking; part of him would love nothing more than to grab a megaphone and shout out, “I, Aaron Lucas Raleigh, am dating Paul James Rovia, he’s the most amazing guy in the world, we’re in love and having _fantastic_ sex already and the day it’s made legal I’m going to ask him to marry me. _”_ Maybe take out a billboard on the interstate leading to Blue Ridge, a giant picture of Paul stretched out on the couch and the caption, _He’s dating ME!_  

“Nah,” Paul says, “I’m enjoying this…being your boyfriend…thing.” His poker face slips a fraction, “Be shame if it was cut short because Maggie ran you over with one of the tractors.”

“Yeah, that would suck,” Aaron says, “Whenever you’re ready, pal. I’m not going anywhere.”

The poker face slips again. There’s so much more Aaron wants to say, that he knows the thing with Maggie is an excuse, that he knows Paul is reluctant to let their friends know about them because he still doesn’t believe this is for real. He still flinches when Aaron tells him he loves him, still goes quiet when Aaron talks about the future in terms of the next few months and next few years rather than their next weekend. Paul encourages him to stay at the cabin not just because he thinks it’s necessary for his work, but because part of him thinks Aaron might grow tired of this faster if they see each other all the time. It’s frustrating and heartbreaking but Aaron knows the only thing he can do is be patient and demonstrate through his actions that Paul’s fears are unfounded.

“You also need to quit looking at me like _that,_ ” Paul mutters, interrupting Aaron’s thoughts. His poker face is back.

“Sorry,” Aaron says, shuffling his feet, “I think I need to—“

Before he can finish he’s tackled from behind, “Yay! Aaron’s here! He finally came down from the mountains!”

“Oof,” Aaron says, grateful for the distraction, “Hey, Tara.” He twists around so he can give her a proper hug, squeezing her tight and kissing the top of her head. He hasn’t seen her in months, not since the traditional Friendsgiving meal the Friday after Thanksgiving.

“Missed your face,” she says, beaming up at him, “How’s it been in your Fortress of Writerly Solitude?"

“Productive,” Aaron says, hyperaware of Paul beside him.

“Any Daryl sightings?”

“No,” Aaron says, feeling foolish at the twinge of disappointment this causes. When he’s back in Atlanta with his living friends it’s easy to feel foolish about talking to a ghost he dreamed about once years ago. He knows he should start weaning himself off this particular coping mechanism, he’s been dragging it out because it’s helping him _creatively_ as well as emotionally. His heart cries out against the idea, however, and every time he returns to the cabin it becomes unthinkable. So Aaron continues to will him into existence.

“There _was_ something that happened while I was there,” Paul says, because he’s an asshole and his desire to fuck with Aaron outweighs his desire to keep their relationship secret, “The locks on my rental malfunctioned, I ended up breaking one of the keys. I blame Daryl for it; I’d be calling for an exorcist if Hertz said I was liable for the damage.”

“I keep telling you to be nice to him,” Tara says.

“And I keep telling you he likes you,” Aaron blurts out, “Like, a lot.”

Tara narrows her eyes suspiciously at them both, and Aaron starts to sweat, “Sooo…how _was_ Christmas in the Fortress of Solitude? Jesus told me you took him to _church_ on Christmas Eve, I told him I thought he was a liar.”

“Not lying,” Aaron says, sweating even more, “We even stayed afterward and had punch and Christmas cookies.”

“Going to baseball games, now to _church…_ it’s like I don’t know you anymore, Jesus.”

“Jesus’ ways are indeed strange, ineffable, and beyond the understanding of mere mortals,” Paul says loftily, “One of the things I learned at church.”

“That’s not one of your better efforts at making a Jesus joke,” Tara says, “Sooo…church, ghosts wrecking your shit…anything else happen?”

“Nothing interesting,” Paul says, poker face intact. He raises his eyebrows at the gift box in Aaron’s hand, “Why don’t you put that with the others?”

“Oh,” Aaron says, “Right. Right.” He flees his two friends to add the present to the massive pile set up in the corner of the room. He reflects on the fact that Hershel Rhee is _spoiled_ ; there’s no denying it. He’s the first grandchild on Maggie’s side of the family—and that side includes Hershel’s people, her mom’s people, _and_ her stepmother’s people. He’s the first and so far _only_ boy on Glenn’s side; and while the Rhees don’t value boys more than girls he’s unique.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Glenn says when Aaron tracks him down a few minutes later. His friend has that permanently frazzled look he’s worn for the past two years, “Grandpa Hershel gave him a horse.”

“The fuck you say,” Aaron replies, then looks around to be sure no tiny human is present to overhear his language.

“I _know,_ ” Glenn says, “One of the mares gave birth this fall and Hershel the Elder says it’s for his namesake. He won’t even be able to _ride_ it for another four or five years but it’s his.”

“Unbelievable,” Aaron says, “You two really need to have a second one to help spread out the spoilage.” 

“Will it offend your delicate gay ears if I tell you that we have been working on that pretty hardcore since Christmas?”

Of course as soon as he says this Aaron catches a glimpse of Paul on the other side of the room. He’s sprawled out on his belly on the floor next to little Hershel; paging through a Thomas the Tank Engine sticker book. As Aaron watches the baby delicately peels out a sticker of one of the trains and presses it firmly against Paul’s forehead. Aaron thinks he might melt into a little puddle on the floor if he stares at them for too long.

“Aaron?” Glenn asks, following his gaze.

“Gay ears unoffended,” Aaron says quickly, “So how _was_ Christmas back in the Midwestern motherland? We haven’t had much of a chance to talk with me going full writer hermit this month.”

Glenn studies him for a beat and Aaron is _determined_ not to fidget, not to glance over to see what adorableness his _boyfriend_ is getting up to, not give anything away. Finally his friend starts talking, giving more details on the Rhee family trip. By the end of their conversation Aaron has gotten himself under control. _Cool,_ he thinks to himself, _I need to play it cool._

_***********************_

Aaron’s attempt to play it cool is not very successful. Throughout the afternoon he finds his eyes drawn to wherever Paul is, he’ll be deep in conversation with someone and just lose track of his thoughts for a second or two. He tries to avoid Paul but _that’s_ just as obvious as clinging to him would be. Thank _god_ for the plethora of adorable toddlers running around screaming, all the adults are too distracted to pay too much attention to Aaron’s lovestruck gay ass. When people _do_ notice he falls back on the “mentally plotting out the next stage of my novel” bullshit and most people seem to accept it.

“Stop staring at your boyfriend’s cute butt for ten seconds,” Sasha says to him at one point.

“What,” Aaron says, stammering, “I wasn’t looking at…” He’s pretty sure she was just talking about one of her coworkers being a dickhead, but try as he might he just can’t remember the past few minutes of conversation. “I’m not staring at my…anyway, how do you know if his butt is cute?”

She rolls her eyes at him, “I’m capable of appreciating the male figure on an aesthetic level. Seriously, put your tongue back in your mouth. Is this really your best attempt at keeping things on the down low?”

“Ok,” Aaron says, feeling his cheeks heat up, “On a scale of one to ten how obvious are we being?”

“Who is ‘we’?” Sasha says with a snort, “There’s a reason none of us are willing to play poker with Jesus anymore. He’s fine. _You,_ on the other hand, are at a seven, maybe a seven and a half. You’re lucky it’s the birthday of the second most adorable human in existence and everyone is distracted.”

Aaron’s cheeks grow hotter and he feels himself grinning almost against his will, “Well. It’s hard to play it cool when I’ve got so much to be happy about.”

“Oh my _god_ shut up _,_ ” Sasha says, “You’re going to make me cry and then it’s going to be even more obvious.”

“I don’t believe you,” Aaron says, “It takes more than me being a big gay cornball to make _you_ cry.”

“Since Luis was born I cry at _everything_ ,” Sasha says, and as though to prove it to him her eyes get bright, “Fuck, see, there I go again. It’s just…after Eric I never thought I’d see you like this again. Jesus too, after Javi I thought he’d go straight back to assholes who treated him like shit.”

“Great,” Aaron says, “Now _I’m_ going to cry.”

“Butch up,” Sasha says, straightening her shoulders and discretely dabbing her eyes. Aaron smiles and slings an arm over her shoulders, squeezing her against his side. After a few seconds she says, “Fuck, these past few years have been something else for our little group.”

“No kidding,” Aaron murmurs. It’s been easy for Aaron to get wrapped up in his own problems and not take as much notice of what’s going on with his friends as he should, but he’s hardly the only one who’s been going through some massive changes. The babies are the biggest, but there’s also shit like Rosita’s relationship with her family deteriorating, Maggie finally graduating from veterinary school, Tara breaking up with her latest girlfriend, Paul finally dating a man who wasn’t a complete asshole.

 _Two_ men who weren’t complete assholes, Aaron thinks to himself with a smile.

****************

Aaron isn’t sure why he even bothered to compete for title of “coolest gay auncle” when Paul exists. Paul gets little Hershel not one but _two_ books about dinosaurs. One of them even has _stickers._ Most of the toys he’s gotten today are train- and car-themed; apparently Uncle Jesus was the only one who got the memo that trains were out and dinosaurs were in.The baby promptly loses interest in the rest of his presents and goes to plop down in Paul’s lap, clutching a dinosaur book in his chubby fist. Paul still has the Thomas sticker on his forehead.

“Hey buddy,” Paul says with a smile, “Go open the rest of your presents.”

“T-rex! T-rex!” Hershel replies, pointing to a picture of a dinosaur.

“Maybe someone else got you a t-rex,” Paul says, even as he winds an arm around his nephew and opens the book.

Glenn just laughs, “It’s ok, there’s a method to the madness. I think everything else is clothes that he doesn’t care about anyway.”

“You got me,” Aaron admits, hoping his poker face is intact until they unwrap his gift. It isn’t clothes, it’s a children’s book on the history of Korea. When Maggie pulls it out to take a closer look the hotel and plane vouchers for the three of them fall out.

“What are these?” she asks, then when she gets a closer look says, “Oh my god, _Aaron._ This is too generous—“

“ _Bro,”_ Glenn says, giving him a look, “No kidding, seriously—“

“Take it up with Kellie,” he says, vibrating with excitement, “She helped pay for it. And it was your mom’s idea.” Although Aaron _had_ paid the lion’s share. _Dr._ Kellie Rhee is an ob-gyn and fellow one-percenter but she has three children of her own to buy plane tickets for. Glenn hasn’t had a chance to visit his extended family in Korea for years, Maggie has been only once as part of their honeymoon, and little Hershel has obviously never been at all.A tragedy, since he has so many more aunties and uncles and great-grandparents chomping at the bit to spoil him in person. The vouchers Aaron bought are flexible to a point, Maggie and Glenn just need to decide what dates work best for them.

“Maybe big sis won’t kill you after all,” Paul teases him later. The party has wound down and the two men are helping with the cleanup, Paul collecting plates and glasses and Aaron washing them in the sink. They have to do it while Anette Greene is distracted or she’ll chase them away to do it herself.

“For the record,” Aaron says, “I bought those _before_ you and me…erm…you and me.”

“And yet you didn’t tell me,” Paul says, eyes twinkling.

“Wanted it to be surprise,” he says, “You can’t keep secrets from Maggie.”

“I’ve been keeping a pretty big one for the past month,” Paul reminds Aaron, eyes twinkling again.

“Ok, you can’t keep secrets from Maggie unless it involves me dying as a possible consequence,” Aaron says.

Paul’s cheeks turn a little pink and he lowers his eyes, “I admit today hasn’t been easy for the whole keeping a secret thing.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Aaron says, his own voice sounds rough in his ears, “I keep wanting to kiss that poker face of yours away.”

Paul lets out a breath, “I have a lot of practice hiding how much I want to kiss you.”

Aaron thinks if he wasn’t up to his elbows in soapy water he’d grab the other man and kiss him right then and there, fuck the “keeping things on the down low” thing they’ve been trying.

“Yeah,” Paul whispers, “You definitely can’t look at me like that in front of other people.”

“Kinda hard not to,” Aaron says, “Fuck, Paul, I—“

The other man steps back from him, glancing toward the living room where the rest of the party is milling around, “Why don’t you head out,” he says quickly, “I’ll be here for another our or two, it won’t look suspicious. Do you…” he shifts uncomfortably, “do you want to meet me at my place?”

Aaron doesn’t, he doesn’t want to leave this man any sooner than he has to. Wants to kiss him, maybe take him upstairs to the guest bedroom he sleeps at when visiting the Greenes and _fuck_ him. Or if that’s too conspicuous then the barn has a hayloft. Aaron gives himself a shake, he knows that both options are more appealing in theory than they would be in practice. Paul’s apartment where he’s sure there is plenty of lube and condoms and no risk of toddlers walking in is better.

“Ok,” Aaron says, pulling his arms out of the sink and wiping them off, “Let me make my goodbyes.”

“Sounds good,” Paul replies, “Let me give you my key.”

“I promise not to go nibbing through your shit,” Aaron says, “Actually that’s a lie. I am _totally_ going o nib through your shit.”

Paul’s eyes glint, “I expect nothing less.”

*******************************

Paul lives in the same East Atlanta duplex he’s lived for the past six years. Aaron has been there before of course, although not for a long time, and he’s pretty sure never when it was just the two of them alone. Which is probably why Aaron almost feels like he’s seeing Paul’s space for the first time. He takes note of his fancy turn table and massive vinyl collection. He glances at the books on Paul’s shelves, and smiles to see the hardback versions of _Mercy for the Lost_ and _Vengeance for the Plunderers._ He takes the latter down and flips through the pages, absurdly pleased to see that Paul scribbles notes in the margins and underlines his favorite quotes.

He moves on to Paul’s bedroom, and just being in it makes heat flutter in his belly. Paul will be home in a few hours and Aaron is going to fuck his brains out on that bed. That heat does more than flutter when he does the promise nibbing through Paul’s nightstand. There’s the obvious stuff in the top drawer—a variety of condoms in different sizes, two types of lube, a tin of Altoids, some wet wipes—but Aaron also finds a few familiar bits of scrap paper carefully folded up in one corner. He smiles at the sight of them—he likes to tuck notes in Paul’s overnight bag to find when he gets back to Atlanta. He never tries to be flowery or poetic—they’re all variations on _I’m so happy you came this weekend, I love you, I miss you and can’t wait to see you again._ He doesn’t even _try_ to play it cool; he’ll even add little hearts and poorly drawn smilie faces. Aaron knows exactly when Paul has found his newest note because he’ll get a text calling him a fucking dork no matter what time of the day or night.

When Paul _finally_ arrives Aaron doesn’t let him get a word in edgewise, just tackles him as soon as he walks through the door.

“Wait, Aaron,” Paul half-heartedly protests, “I need to put some of this shit away—“

“Later,” Aaron insist, dragging him toward the bedroom.

“You’re going to kill me,” Paul says, melting into Aaron’s arms, loose and boneless. They kiss for a second before Paul takes over, and instead of being dragged into bed by Aaron he’s the one doing the dragging. Because of his height it’s easy to forget how strong Paul is. Aaron gets a reminder when Paul tackles him and pins him down on the mattress, holding him by the wrists and grinning.

Aaron grins back, he might not be as _physically_ strong as his boyfriend but he’s not afraid to fight dirty. To that end he pushes himself up so he can kiss the other man. Paul goes still, and Aaron uses the distraction to flip them over. He thinks _that’s_ something he’ll never get tired of, catching Paul off guard and overwhelming him. He pulls back and smiles down at Paul, who is staring up at him with his eyes wide, like he can’t believe this is happening to him. It makes Aaron’s chest tighten; he hadn’t been prepared for how… _vulnerable_ Paul is when they have sex. He knows the reasons why aren’t happy ones, but he’s still so overcome and _humbled_ by it.

 _I’m going to make you so happy,_ Aaron thinks, and leans down to kiss him some more.

“That’s cheating,” Paul gasps out when Aaron breaks away. Aaron doesn’t give him a chance to recover, he goes immediately for Paul’s neck, pressing kisses on the spot just below his ear, his shiver spot. Aaron risks letting go of the other man’s wrist so he rub his nipple, Paul is delightfully sensitive and it’s a good way to reduce him to jelly.

It proves to be a serious tactical error; Paul shivers at first and Aaron thinks he’s won but the other man is able to rally himself, grabbing Aaron’s shoulders and pushing up while twisting his legs up and winding them around Aaron’s neck. He’s stupidly flexible on top of being physically powerful and somehow Aaron ends up on his back with Paul straddling his chest and using his legs to pin down his hands. Two can play at that game, Aaron isn’t as flexible but his legs are a lot fucking longer. He draws them up so his knees are pressing into Paul’s back, pushing him forward enough that Aaron can curl up and mouth at the front of his boxers. Again Paul’s grip falters and Aaron’s able to break his arms free, to grab the other man and push him backward, knocking him off balance.

They end up with Paul’s back resting against Aaron’s thighs, supporting himself with both hands on the mattress behind him. His own legs are spread wide and his feet are planted against Aaron’s shoulders. The two men grin at each other as they catch their breath.

“Truce?” Paul says, eyes fluttering shut as Aaron runs his hands up his thighs to his hips, fingers teasing at the waistband of his boxers. Paul is fully hard, dick tenting the front, a dark wet spot from pre-come growing at the crotch. Aaron is just as hard, the wrestling has gotten him stupidly turned on. His muscles are already sore; he’s in decent shape from all the hiking and wood chopping he does but Paul is on another level. He’s going to have to start hitting the gym if rough housing becomes a regular fixture of their sex life.

 _Their_ sex life. _They_ have a sex life, he and Paul. One they’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of. Aaron hasn’t learned a fraction of all the ways Paul likes it, of all the spots on his body that make him shiver and he can’t wait to find out. He palms the other man’s dick and watches Paul’s lips part and the arc of his neck as he lets his head fall back. “Truce,” Aaron agrees, “Do you want to flip a coin for who gets to be on top?”

A smile flashes on Paul’s face before he moans, “I’m fine with either.”

“Good,” Aaron says, letting his voice get low and rough, “Because fucking you in this bed is all I’ve been able to think about since I got here.”

Another open-mouthed smile. Paul’s arms are trembling and he’s panting as Aaron works him with his hands. “This bed in particular? Why?”

“Because you fucked other guys in it,” Aaron growls, getting rougher.

“Want…to stake your claim? Very caveman of you…oh _god,_ Aaron—”

“Want to celebrate,” Aaron says, his own breathing ragged and words hard to form, “Doesn’t matter how many others there were; I’m going to be the last.”

Paul’s thighs are trembling, “Then fucking do it, I’m not going to last, _Aaron—“_

So Aaron does, and it’s every bit as exciting as he thought it would be. And yeah, maybe it is some vestigial caveman part of his brain, and maybe he’s being premature stating he’s going to be the last guy Paul ever fucks, but what the hell. Aaron is, as has been pointed out by more than one person, a “big, gay, cornball”.

Aaron likes the position they’re in so he goes back to it once they’re ready; Paul straddling him, feet against the mattress by his shoulders, supporting himself with his hands behind the back. Aaron braces his feet against the mattress and thrusts up into him while Paul uses his arms to move up and down. Aaron thinks about how _insane_ upper body strength has to be to hold that pose and again thinks he needs to spend more time at the gym. He has an unobstructed view of his dick sliding in and out of Paul, the other man’s own dick hard and flushed red bouncing up and down above it, his flexing thigh and abdominal muscles, trembling arms, and the arc of his neck when he throws his head back and cries out. Aaron hears his own voice, he _knows_ he’s a talker, Eric and Paul have _both_ teased him about it. He’s never calculated, it’s just stream of conscious babbling nonsense. _So fucking gorgeous, take it, that’s it, tell me how much you like it, scream it, oh god Paul._ He knows it’s cheesy but he’s not embarrassed, despite their teasing Paul and Eric both got off on it.

When it’s over both of them are sweaty mess; gasping for air and grinning at each other like idiots. Paul’s normally perfect hair is a soaked at the temples, he’s so red he looks like he has the beginning of a sunburn, love bites and beard burn decorate on his thighs and stomach. He’s smiling so wide the corners of his eyes crinkle and Aaron thinks how much he _loves_ the shape of his mouth. It’s too wide for his face and a little lop-sided, framed by full lips that demand to be kissed. Aaron is sure he looks just as wrecked and even goofier if the way his cheeks hurt from smiling are any indication.

“Wow,” Paul says, collapsing onto his back.

“ _Wow,_ ” Aaron says, making Paul burst out laughing. It’s contagious, Aaron starts laughing along with him. He remembers what he said to Sasha, about how hard it is to play cool when he has so much to be happy about, and forces himself up just enough so he reposition himself alongside Paul. They exchange a few lazy kisses in between giggles; Paul’s eyes fluttering shut and sighing.

Aaron gives the corner of his mouth a final kiss before saying “I love you.”

Paul doesn’t flinch, just goes quiet. His smile fades but doesn’t vanish, Aaron can still see it in his eyes and on the corners of his lips. “I love you too,” he says.

Definitely too much to be happy about for Aaron to play it cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got just a little inspired by this amazing tumblr comic: https://gretasart.tumblr.com/post/180674484157


End file.
